Hjalmar and Tore Krekula continue eating and listen just like they used to do when they were children.
“Speaking of drowning,” Svarvare says as he unscrews the carburettor, “do you remember that time in the autumn of 1943 when we were waiting and waiting for that transport plane that never arrived?”
“No,” Isak says, sounding a warning note.
But Svarvare has been drinking, and does not hear any warning notes.
“It disappeared, didn’t it? I’ve always wondered where it can have come down. It was coming from Narvik. It always seemed to me that the plane was bound to have followed the River Torne past Jiekajarvi and Alajarvi. But if you asked folk who lived up there, none of them had seen or heard such a plane. So I reckon it must have gone off course and turned south after Taalojarvi, then somehow turned off again and tried to make an emergency landing on the lakes at Ovre Vuolusjarvi or Harrijarvi or Vittangijarvi. Don’t you agree? The whole crew must have drowned like rats.”
Tore and Hjalmar concentrate on their food. Kerttu is standing at the counter with her back to them and seems to be busy with something. Isak says nothing, merely hands Svarvare the key so that he can detach the float. Svarvare continues his outpouring:
“Anyway, I told Wilma – she and Simon go diving, you know – that this would be something for them to explore if they could find it. Try Vittangijarvi, was my advice. Because if it had gone down in Ovre Vuolusjarvi we’d no doubt have heard about it by now. And Harrijarvi is so small. So Vittangijarvi would be as good a place to start looking as anywhere, don’t you think?”
He unscrews the mouthpiece, puts it to his mouth and blows out the flakes of metal. Then he holds it up in the light from the window. Squints through the little hole to see if it is clean. He turns to Tore and Hjalmar.
“I was only thirteen then, but your dad took me with him. We needed to work in those days.”
“What did Wilma say?” Isak asks casually, as if he was not really interested.
“Oh, she was as keen as anything. Asked me if she could borrow some maps.”
Svarvare sounds satisfied now. It is evidently a pleasant memory. A keen young woman interested in something he had to tell her. Their fingers on the map.
He drops the filter into the can of petrol. Dries his hands as best he can on his trousers, and knocks back the few drops left in the Duralex glass.
But instead of refilling it, Isak screws down the cork of the vodka bottle.
“Thanks for your help today, that’s all for now,” he says.
Svarvare looks a bit surprised. He had expected several more glasses of vodka while he fitted the engine back together. That was the usual pattern.
But he has spent his entire life in the village and had dealings with Isak Krekula since childhood. He knows it is prudent to pay attention when Isak says, “Time to go.”
He says thank you, staggers unsteadily out of the house and heads for home.
Kerttu remains standing absolutely still, her back to her family and her hands resting on the countertop. Nobody says a word.
“Is Father alright?” Tore says.
Isak has tried to stand up from his chair by the kitchen table. His face is white as a sheet. Then he falls. Makes no attempt to break his fall with his hands. Hits his head on the table as he collapses onto the floor.
Tore puts the fancy envelope with the rental payment into his pocket. As always, Hjalmar thinks that there is a lot of money around of which he never sees a trace. He does not know what the firm’s turnover is. He does not know how much of the forest they own, and what income it brings in. But then, Tore is the one with a family to look after.
There is a clattering of crockery as Kerttu nonchalantly drops plates, cutlery and mugs into the sink.
“Two sons he’s got,” she says without looking at them. “And what good do they do him?”
Hjalmar notices how Tore reacts badly to what she says. The words stab him like knives. Hjalmar has been used to such rebukes ever since he was a little boy. All the abuse. Useless, thick as three planks, fat, idiot. Actually, most of it has come from Tore and Isak. Kerttu has not said much. But she never looks him in the eye.
Things are going downhill, Hjalmar thinks.
There is something almost comforting about that thought. He thinks about the prosecutor, Rebecka Martinsson. Who saw Wilma after she had died.
Tore looks at Hjalmar. Thinks that he is keeping silent as usual. There is something the matter with him.
“Are you ill?” he says brusquely.
Oh yes, Hjalmar thinks. I’m ill.
He stands up, walks out of the kitchen, leaves the house, crosses the road. Trudges home to his sad little house full of furniture, curtains, cloths, you name it, none of which he has bought himself.
And then we spoke to Johannes Svarvare, he thinks. Father was in intensive care.
In his mind, Tore flings open Svarvare’s front door. Marches into the kitchen.
“You bastard,” Tore says, taking his knife from its sheath on his belt.
Hjalmar remains in the doorway. Svarvare is scared stiff, nearly shitting himself. He is lying on the kitchen sofa, still suffering from yesterday’s hangover, from when he sat in the Krekulas’ house, taking their outboard motor to pieces. He sits up now.
Tore stabs his knife into Svarvare’s kitchen table. He had better realize that this is serious.
“What the hell…?” Svarvare splutters.
“That aeroplane that disappeared,” Tore says. “And all that was going on in those days. You’ve blabbed on about it like a silly old woman. Stuff that everyone’s forgotten about, that ought to be forgotten. And now Father’s in hospital thanks to you. If he doesn’t make it or I hear that you’ve squeaked one more bloody word…”
He wrenches the knife loose and points it at Svarvare’s eye.
“Have you been gossiping to anybody else?” he says.
Svarvare shakes his head. Stares squint-eyed at the knife point.
Then they leave.
“At least he’ll keep his trap shut now,” Tore says.
“Wilma and Simon?” Hjalmar says.
Tore shakes his head.
“They’ll never find anything anyway. Let them think of it as an old man’s ravings. We’ll keep our eye on ’em. Make sure they don’t go diving there.”
Hjalmar Krekula stands outside his house. Suppresses all thoughts of Svarvare, Wilma, Simon Kyro and all the rest of it. He has no desire at all to go into his own house. But what alternative does he have? Sleep in the woodshed?
Sven-Erik Stalnacke and Airi Bylund drive to Airi’s cottage in Puoltsa. They are only going to check on things – besides, it is such a lovely evening.
In the course of the journey, Stalnacke tells Airi how he and Martinsson lured Tore Krekula into a trap.
Airi listens, albeit absent-mindedly, and says, “Good for you.”
